


tell me what you want to hear

by plinys



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They haven’t seen each other in years, and it seems silly after all this time that she is the one Cosette calls.  Except there’s no one else, but her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me what you want to hear

**Author's Note:**

> Filling the "road trip" au square on my bingo, and also a toast to myself cause I'm going to be driving eight hours tomorrow morning!

They haven’t seen each other in years, and it seems silly after all this time that _she_ is the one Cosette calls.

Except there’s no one else, but her.

Nobody else answers the phone no matter what the time of day is and just listens to whatever it is Cosette has to say, they have history that nobody else can understand, the story of two kids shivering together in the basement during too many seemingly endless Canadian winters and promising to be there for each other no matter what.

So Cosette says, “I just got broken up with,” and “you don’t happen to have a car by any chance,” all in one breath, the words tumbling off her lips over the phone, desperate for an answer that won’t hurt any more.

And Eponine provides it as she always has, saying, “where do you need to go,” without any sort of hesitance.

\---

“Your dad dies and then he breaks up with you? What a dick.”

“It was more complicated than that,” Cosette assures her, because the story is too long and there’s no easy way to go about it, so she just settles on saying, “it was for the best anyways, we weren’t working out.”

“He’s still a dick.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

\---

She’s pretty sure the truck’s stolen.

There’s no way for her to prove it – as Eponine had helped her load up her bags, Cosette had riffled through the glove box looking for some form of registration, but only coming up empty – but there’s something off about the whole thing and she knows it.

The scented cardboard tree hanging off the dashboard windshield is just a bit too suburban for Eponine, and there’s no cigarette burns in the seats.

When Eponine comes out of the car and arches a brow at her Cosette comes up with a quick excuse, that is hardly believable, because there’s no proper way to ask the question plaguing her mind.

\---

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You keep staring at me when you’re supposed to be watching the road.”

Eponine drags her eyes away from Cosette and back to the road at that, making the movement deliberate and greatly exaggerated as she goes.

“You’re a brunette now,” are the first words out of Eponine’s lips.

And Cosette’s not sure why that makes her so happy, why laughter bubbles up from her chest so easily, even though she’s spent the last week doing nothing but crying – except there’s Eponine standing across from her as though the color of Cosette’s hair has personally offended her, and at once everything seems right.

“Marius, he liked brunette’s so I-“

“What a dick,” Eponine cuts her off, “do you miss it?”

“Him?”

“Being blond,” she corrects, the _obviously_ goes silent.

“A little bit?”

\---

Eponine drives with the winds down so she can smoke.

The scent of tobacco clings to everything in a way that reminds her of a lonely childhood and burnt fingers.

She remembers the way she coughed the first time Eponine offered her one, it’s been years now, but she never did figure out to do it properly. Spent too many hours coughing out smoke rather than breathing it in.

Though when Eponine pushes the box across the center divider as a peace offering, Cosette can’t stop herself from reaching out to pull one from the box and bring it up to her lips.

It helps that Eponine’s fingers follow hers a second later with a lighter.

\---

“I was thinking we could stay in Kingston for the night,” Cosette says while they’re eating lunch, “eight hours is a lot to drive in one day and all.”

She had aimed for casual as she had brought up the topic, but she can tell that Eponine knew better than to believe that.

“You had already booked a hotel, hadn’t you?”

“I could cancel the reservation, but-“

“No, this will be good,” Eponine says, “I don’t know when the last time I slept in a real bed was.”

There’s worry clawing up inside her chest and Cosette almost asks what she means by that, but a second passes, a waitress comes by to fill up their drinks, and the moment is gone.

\---

They bleach her hair in a hotel bathroom, with a stolen box of hair die.

The windows that don’t open, and the fumes from the bleach overwhelm her senses, but there’s Eponine’s fingers tugging at her hair, desperate to wash the color out of it, and nothing else has ever felt this right.

She watches as  

When she looks in the mirror after they’ve finished, she feels more like herself than she has in months.

“Thanks,” Cosette says, voice barely more than a whisper.

“You looked weird,” Eponine replies, but Cosette hears the _you’re welcome_ underneath it.

\---

“Try to get some sleep, blondie,” Eponine says as she flicks off the light, “we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

“Three hours isn’t a long drive,” Cosette protests, like that is the only problem here.

It’s easier than admitting that she couldn’t sleep, that she hadn’t been able to for the past few days.

The mattress dips as Eponine settles onto the other side, letting out a noise of relief and pleasure.

“You know, I could get used to this.”

“Having a bed?”

Eponine’s laugh is harsh at that, “no, having you in bed with me.”

\---

It’s not because she’s lonely, or desperate, or sad, or any other reasons people try to explain these kinds of things away – but it’s because Eponine is there, always has been, when nobody else was. Surely, that has to mean something.

When she turns over and kisses her, there’s no explanation for it, other than that she wants to – that she needs to, because she should have done this years ago when they were little girls huddling towards each other during a winter storm.

And she figures that its better late than never.

If the way Eponine melts into the kiss is any indicator, she’s not the only one feeling that way.


End file.
